Lonely Blue
by scary-blue
Summary: A year after the events of the musical, Roger is living with Mimi in her apartment. On a cold winter's night, can she convince him to go down a road he thought he had left far behind? based on the movie cast's interpretations of characters. Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Mimi? Are you home?" The door banged as Roger kicked it closed with his heel. The apartment was freezing, and he made a move to light a fire, all the while wondering where his girlfriend could be. Roger had moved in with Mimi almost six months ago, and now that Christmas was approaching once more he found himself excited about the holidays for the first time in … well, for a long time. He had been busking all day; his finger ached from the combination of endless guitar playing and relentless cold, but he was happy. If he had calculated correctly, he had now earned enough to buy a real present for Mimi – a coat, maybe, or a new scarf. He was cutting it fine, he knew – Christmas was less than a week away – but he could shop tomorrow and sort everything out.

Roger jumped as the forgotten match in his hand burnt his fingers, and he quickly dropped it in the old, slightly singed garbage can alongside the old newspapers and crumpled sheet music. He angrily stuck his fingers in his mouth to ease the searing heat, hearing the door hit the wall as it opened behind him. He brought his hands to his sides, ignoring the throbbing pain as he stepped forward to embrace the girl he loved. Mimi raised her face to Roger's as he leant in for a kiss. It was gentle and tender, something neither of them had experienced much before they formed their relationship together, and Roger found it surprisingly enjoyable. However, when Mimi reached down to take his hand, he couldn't stop himself from instinctively flinching and pulling away.

Mimi followed Roger into the room as he walked away and sat down heavily on their ratty sofa.

"Baby? What's wrong?" Mimi asked, concern in her voice. "Did I hurt you?" The sadness and guilt in her warm eyes were more than Roger could bear and he rushed to comfort her.

"No! Of course not Meems! It's all my fault." Mimi visibly relaxed at the reassurance as Roger continued. "I did a stupid thing. Didn't realise how quickly those damn matches burnt. It's nothing." As much as he kept talking, he could tell that his girlfriend was going to continue staring at him with those deep eyes until he gave in and let her see. He pulled his hand out from its protective shield under his arm and held it out to Mimi, noticing for the first time how pink and shiny the tips of his thumb and index finger were.

"Oh, baby." Mimi breathed. "Stay here. I'll be right back." She stood abruptly, disappearing into the tiny bathroom at the back of the apartment and returning moments later with a box of band-aids and a bottle containing half an inch of clear liquid.

Mimi knelt in front of Roger, setting the box and the bottle down and taking his large hand in both of her small ones. She leant forward, slowly and gently kissing the tips of his burnt fingers. Roger winced as her lips came into contact with the raw skin but said nothing, allowing his girlfriend to continue her ministrations.

"Rog, baby, this is gonna hurt, 'kay?" Mimi warned, unscrewing the top of the bottle. "We've got no real stuff left, but I found a little bit of Stoli through there. I have to clean your fingers and this is the best we've got. Is that ok?" She glanced up to see Roger nod his head curtly, his teeth clenched tightly in preparation. "Ready?" She whispered. He nodded again. "3…2…1." She tipped the bottle and Roger had to bite back a yelp, hissing through gritted teeth as heat and pain flared through his hand and up his arm. Mimi paused, but Roger waved his free arm vaguely in her direction.

"Keep going." He moaned, eyes closed. "I can take it." Mimi steeled herself and poured, trying to ignore Roger's quiet sounds of pain, until the bottle was empty. She swiftly and deftly wrapped his fingers in band-aids before kissing each one once more. Looking up, she noticed that tears had sprung to both of their eyes, and she wiped the salty sadness from Roger's cheeks.

Roger's fingers continued to throb erratically. He was aware that he was being pathetic, but he didn't really care. It _hurt_, damn it! Mimi stood up, grabbing his uninjured hand and pulling him to his feet.

"Um … Meems? Where are you taking me?" She turned and smiled coyly.

"You'll see. I think I might have something to … take your mind off the pain for a while." She led him into the bedroom they shared and sat him down on the edge of the bed. As he moved to relieve himself of the broken spring he was sitting on, Mimi crossed to the window and rummaged in the small wooden box she kept there. When she turned back to face him, she was hiding something behind her back. Roger's confusion only grew as Mimi started to speak.

"Now, I know you'll probably hate me for this, and you have every right to. But, please, hear me out." She took Roger's raised eyebrow as am invitation to continue. "Believe me, I never planned to need this. I only kept it because … well, I don't really know why I kept it. But now … a little won't hurt, surely? And it'll stop your hand hurting too. So please don't hate me?" When he made no move to reply she stepped towards him, withdrawing the object the object she was concealing from behind her back. His eyes widened comically and he backed away as he saw what it was. Fully revealed and glinting in the moonlight. Deadly, but strangely beautiful. A full hypodermic syringe.

Long minutes passed in silence before Roger regained the ability to speak.

"Meems. Babe. Is that what I think it is?" Her glance towards the floor told him everything he needed to know. "Why, Meems? After we worked so hard? After you promised?"

"I kept my promise, baby." She hurried to reply. "I bought this ages ago. Before. I swear. And it's pure. I made sure. And I'll only give you a little; just enough to stop the pain. This of it as medicine if it helps." Her eyes were saucers, shining as she reasoned, almost pleaded, with him.

Roger was going mad. He had to be. He had finally, completely, lost it. He knew this for a fact, because the more the Mimi was talking, the more appealing her proposition was becoming. And that was crazy. He had worked so hard to get rid of that stuff; had lost so much because of it. But, deep down, he remembered how good it had felt. Those good times had been fantastic. But the bad ones had been horrific. April. No. Forget April. He had Mimi now. And Mimi loved him. She wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. Would she?

Before he had time to think any more, Roger found himself nodding. He took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, choosing to ignore the old scars and track marks and telling himself repeatedly that it would be fine. One time wouldn't ruin his years of hard work. He would give it all up again after tonight. It was just pain relief; nothing else.

He lay back on the bed, stretching out his arm towards Mimi. The sharp but familiar sting of the needle brought a moment of doubt, but by then it was too late. The drug was already coursing through his system, surging through his veins. He closed his eyes, basking in the glow, and felt Mimi – his Mimi – lie down next to him. Beyond that, Roger did not recall, and nor did he care. All he knew was deep, radiant happiness, the kind that had been missing for far too long, as he slid gently into a warm pool of light. Winter could wait. Tonight there was only sun, peace … and Mimi.

**Let me know what you think people. First **_**Rent**_** fic. Its been written for ages but I never got round to uploading. There are 7 chapters and it could maybe go further, but I'm going to wait a bit and see how many reviews etc I get before I type up the next chapter. Reviews are love people – I might be less mean to Roger if you review! (Maybe … Probably not!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**So I was going to wait until I had a few more reviews before posting the next chapter, but mrsjasperhale313 left such a nice review that I figured I could leave her hanging. Hope you like …**

Roger blinked blearily back to some level of awake and groaned inwardly. His head felt like it was about to explode and his stomach churned like a boat. Rubbing his hands over his face, he wondered half-heartedly whether the sickness ha was currently experiencing was due to last night's drugs or the guilt the guilt that was gnawing at his core over what he had done. God, Mark was going to kill him when he found out. If he found out. Who said he had to find out? Roger could be cool about this; pretend it never happened. Couldn't he?

Careful not to wake the still-sleeping Mimi, Roger slid out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen. Holding the countertop for support, he leant down and snagged a bottle from their dwindling supply of beer. His pounding head grumbled at the movement, but he tried to ignore it as he staggered across the room to flop on the saggy sofa. He wasn't entirely sure that beer was what he needed right now, but it was all they had, and he figured it might dull the throbbing in his temples. Taking a long gulp from the bottle, he sighed and struggled to his feet. He had to get out of here for a while. He just … needed space to think.

Roger shrugged into his jacket, grimacing as the slight motion rattled his sensitive brain. As quietly as possible, he inched the door open and edged out of the apartment and down the stairs. Stepping outside he was hit with a blast of cold air and he looked back once, briefly, at the window behind which he knew Mimi lay, before turning and walking slowly down the street. Every shout made him wince; thinking that Mark or Mimi had followed him. But he was, blessedly, alone. He wandered aimlessly, the jarring pain in his head and the twisting of his stomach now joined by violent shudders as his body reacted to the biting cold and … something else he wasn't ready to admit yet.

A considerable amount of time passed before Roger even looked up. When he did, he wished that he had done so sooner. He had managed to meander to the park. That, in itself, was fine. He liked the park. What was not fine, however, was that the one person he did not want to see right now was heading straight for him. On that damned bike. With that damned camera. Mark. Roger tried to shrink into the shadows, but Mark had already spotted him and was now waving in his direction. Damn! He steeled himself for the coming conversation, hoping he could act calm in the face of the one person who had always been able to see right through his façade.

Mark skidded to a stop and dismounted from his bike. Roger looked up and attempted a smile, determined to control this situation.

"Hey Mark."

"Hi Roger. How's things? Mimi?"

"Yeah, great. Mimi's great." Roger mumbled, wondering how he had let Mark ask questions so quickly. His friend peered at him closely, scrutinising him from behind his glasses.

"Rog?" Ah. There was the nickname. He had no chance of clawing this back now. Mark continued. "You sure you're ok? You're a little pale. You sick or something?"

"Or something." Roger answered, not wanting to give his friend any further ammunition. Not that this worked.

"Rog. Go home if you're sick. You have to be careful. You know that. Don't be stupid about stuff like this." Mark was rambling, concern for the other man clear in his expression. "Here. Take my scarf. I'll get it back when you've kicked this cold. Or whatever it is." He unwound the scarf, a permanent fixture, placing it around Roger's neck.

Roger couldn't bear any more of Mark's 'help'. He pushed Mark's hands away roughly distantly aware that he was yelling.

"I'm FINE Mark. For God's sake, will you listen for once? Leave! Me! Alone!" He ran, cursing under his breath as his head reeled and he almost tripped over his own feet. As quickly as he could, he stumbled through the park, only stopping to catch his breath when he knew he was well out of sight of Mark. God, why was that man so infuriatingly _nice_? All he wanted was to be left alone. Was that not clear? Roger's stomach flip-flopped and he gripped the arm of a bench, breathing deep to stop the sudden feeling that he was about to throw up. As he leant forward, his eye caught a flash of blue. He was still wearing Mark's scarf. Pulling it off fiercely, he seriously considered throwing it away, but something stopped him. He sighed.

Roger sank slowly onto the bench, Mark's scarf wound tightly around both hands. He had been an idiot. If anything was going to make Mark suspicious it was being shouted at. And, now that he could think more clearly, Roger felt bad for doing it too. Mark had been his best friend since, well, forever. He would hate to give all of that up for one moment of stupidity brought about by a headache and … well, other stuff. He wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck, welcoming the warmth it brought, and jammed the hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Something crinkled on contact, and he frowned as he pulled out a collection of crumpled dollar bills. It was the money he had earned. The money for Mimi's Christmas present.

He was about to shove the dollars back in his pocket for later when he looked up and spotted a figure in the distance. A figure he recognised. A man he hadn't particularly wanted to see, but now that he had he couldn't help but be a little bit relieved. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew exactly why he felt the way he did. This gut-wrenching, brain-drilling sensation was all too familiar, and he knew the only thing that would make it go away. He sidled up to The Man, cash in hand.

Twenty minutes later, Roger inched open his apartment door and crept inside. The Man hadn't been thrilled to see him, especially after the things Roger had done to him the last time they had crossed paths. But, after a lot of convincing - and a quick flash of the money Roger held in his fist - he had relented. Not that he was ever going to complain about a returning customer. So now Roger was, once again, broke, but he had a present for Mimi. One they could share. And one he thought she might just prefer to a coat. He knew it was wrong, and wasteful, but, really, how much more damage could it do. And last night had been fantastic.

"Mimi?" He called tentatively. His head was still spinning, but that would stop soon. Mimi stuck her head through the beads separating their bedroom from the living space.

"Hey babe." She whispered. "Um … Mark called …"

"Forget Mark." Roger interrupted. "I've brought you a present and I think you're going to really enjoy it." He held up the small package and Mimi clapped her hands, giggling like a small child at the white powder inside the tiny bag.

"Oh, baby. You know just how to make a girl happy." Roger grinned and followed Mimi back into the bedroom.

**There you go. Hope you enjoyed and that I didn't go too OOC with Roger. Chapter 3 will be up soon, but remember: reviews are life. Think of me as Roger, and reviews as AZT. I need it people! XD**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**So. I hope you liked chapter 2. On advice from mrsjasperhale313 I think I've proofread this one a bit better…**

**Mark's POV**

Pan 360° around the park. I got some decent footage today. Went over to Tent City to see how the success of Maureen's protests has affected them. They're still there for a start. So now I'm homeward bound. The park is bare in winter. There are no leaves on the trees, but it hasn't started to snow yet either. It's just cold and miserable and … wait. Close on – is that Roger? Speaking of cold and miserable. He looks freezing. In fact, he looks ill. I'd better go over and see if he's alright.

I skid to a stop beside him, determined to find out what's bugging him. He flashes me a pitiful attempt at a smile, speaking before I get a chance.

"Hey, Mark." He's quieter than usual; subdued. Something is definitely not right.

"Hi Roger." I begin, going for the subtle approach. "How's things? Mimi?" I ask cautiously, wondering if an argument has caused Roger's apparent bad mood.

"Yeah, great. Mimi's great." I can barely hear his reply. This is bigger than just Mimi, and if my best friend thinks he can pull the wool over my eyes he has another thing coming.

I look closer at Roger, studying his face and his stance. His skin is stark white in the harsh winter sun and the way he's standing … he looks like he's in pain.

"Rog." I start, all attempts at subtlety out of the window. "You sure you're ok? You look a little pale. You sick or something?" For some reason Roger can't meet my eye. Now I'm getting worried. I'm the only person he talks to about stuff like this, and if he feels like he cant even do that, then this must be huge.

"Or something." He replies dismissively.

"Rog." I warn. "Go home if you're sick. You have to be careful. You know that. Don't be stupid about stuff like this." He should know how careful he has to be. How often has he been warned about the effect the disease has on his immune system? I mean, the man watched Angel die! But instead, all I see is a flash of anger in his eyes. Well, one of us has to care, and it clearly isn't going to be him.

Roger is shivering through the leather of his jacket and I unwind my scarf. I don't need it, and he evidently does.

"Here. Take my scarf." I order. "I'll get it back when you've kicked this cold. Or whatever it is." I say hopefully, determined to remain optimistic. Roger's reaction is violent and unexpected. He forcibly removes my hands from their position on the scarf, which now lies around his neck, pushing me backwards in the process. He's shouting, but my ears don't want to hear the words. Instead, I watch his back as he runs, stumbling over his own feet, in the direction of the park, my scarf swinging.

It takes time for me to regain the ability to move, and when I do I grab my bike and pedal. Fast. Roger is far out of sight, but I'm not going after him. That's pointless. I continue in the direction I was already travelling, hoping that the one person who sees Roger more than me these days is home. Maybe she can get to the bottom of why he's acting so out of character. Mimi.

Not wanting to be hindered, I throw my bike down at the foot of the stairs. I can come back for it later. Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the door to Mimi's – and Roger's – apartment and knock so hard it almost rattles off its hinges. Mimi answers, bleary eyed from sleep despite the fact that it's almost 3:30pm. She mutters a greeting as I try to push my way inside.

"Hi Mimi. Sorry to wake you." I apologise. "It's just … I've just bumped in Roger and he didn't look too good. Is everything alright?" If I didn't know better I would have guessed that the look on Mimi's face is … guilt? But that can't be right. I'm imagining things. She nods slowly as she replies.

"Everything is … good. Or it was last night. I haven't seen him today. Look, I'll ask him later." Is it just me, or is she trying to get rid of me? "Come back later, ok? I'll call when he gets home. Thanks for stopping by." The door shuts in my face, narrowly missing my nose, and I realise I've been dismissed.

Retrieving my bike, I climb the stairs to my apartment, thinking about the strange events of the day. Just as I dump my bike alongside to sofa, a disturbing idea occurs to me. The look on Roger's face today was familiar. I couldn't place it before because I haven't seen it for a long time. I desperately hope that I'm wrong, because the last time I saw that look was just after April died. It was the look of a determined man. A man who knew exactly what he wanted, and wasn't going to let anything get in his way. It was a look I had dreaded. If I'm wrong, praise be to whoever is listening up there. God. Buddha. Angel. If not, I might need help, because … that look? It's the look of a man on the hunt for his next hit.

**There you go. Bit of a shift in POV. It's going to go between the two for a few chapters but I'll always say at the start when it changes. Don't forget, reviews = life for the poor struggling writers of Alphabet City. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Thank you so much for the continuing support guys. Mrsjasperhale313 … I love you! Also, to the writer of the guest review … you rock! We're back to Roger for this chapter so I hope you like.**

**Roger's POV**

Three days passed in a happy, slightly blurred haze. At some point, Roger vaguely recalled pinning a soppy note to Mark's scarf and leaving it outside the apartment they used to share. He knew that the other man would probably call him out for his out-of-character sentimentality, but right now he couldn't care less. Life felt good, really good, for the first time in a long time, and nothing could ruin that. Well, nothing but his ever dwindling supply of cash. And Mark.

It was Christmas day, and Mark was holding an 'obligatory' dinner. Roger knew that he had been saving for a turkey for weeks and had hidden a bottle of Stoli in the bathroom cabinet. He had to go, or Mark really would get suspicious, but how was he supposed to sit in a room with his friends for hours on end? He was already high, for Christ's sake, and that wasn't likely to change between now and dinner. He had no gifts to give out, and no money either. He just hoped that he would be flying high enough to bring a bit of Christmas spirit to the occasion. He had to be or he was screwed. Him and Mimi both. Speaking of Mimi, the bead curtain rattled and a slender brown hand appeared, brandishing a needle. One more hit before the interminable dinner. Dutch courage.

Roger knocked on Mark's door, trying to arrange his hair and look cool and collected. He could tell he was jittery, trying not to relax into the last hit too much, but he hoped that he could pass it off as guilt because they were late. They had gotten a little … distracted … in their apartment. The door slid open, allowing Roger to pull Mimi inside. As soon as they were in Roger was talking uncontrollably.

"Sorry we're late. Mimi was getting ready, and I left my AZT behind and … crap, everybody else is already here. No, it's good. We'll sit on the floor, won't we Meems? So. Is everyone having a good Christmas? Maureen? Joanne? Collins? Hmm? Mark? Is dinner ready? Great. Let's eat! I'm starved!" Roger broke off, suddenly realising that every single person in the room – apart from Mimi – was staring at him. "What?" He asked defensively, struggling to stand back up. "It's Christmas! Lighten up!" His laugh was brittle and unconvincing, even to his own ears.

Turning his back to the group, Roger became aware that a whispered conversation was taking place behind him, but he chose to ignore it and closed his eyes. The smell of roast turkey wafted to his nostrils from across the room, causing him to smile. Footsteps echoed, travelling towards him, and a hand landed on his arm, spinning him around. The look he saw on his old friend's face was one of shock and barely concealed anger. The last time he had seen that expression he had felt terrible, disappointed and ashamed, but now, for some bizarre reason, it made him want to laugh.

"Roger." Mark hissed warningly. "Are you drunk?" That was hilarious! Drunk? That was Mark's guess?

"Hell, no." He replied, suppressing a chuckle. Mark's eyes narrowed.

"No. You're not. I know drunk Roger and you aren't him. This Roger is …" The anger in his face intensified. "Are you high?! Jesus Christ, Rog, I thought you were done with that! After last time!" Mark's voice was rising in frustration, turning shrill, and Roger couldn't hold it in any longer. He let out a peal of laughter which somehow turned into a snort of derision as he found himself snapping back at his so-called best friend.

"You never get 'done with that', Mark! 'That' is always there! It always will be! Why can't you get that through your thick skull? I want this!" The last part of this was shouted to the room at large: Maureen, looking like she might cry; Joanne, turning away to avoid eye contact; Collins, disappointment etched in his face; Mimi, his Mimi, staring up at him; and Mark, nose mere inches from his own, fury bubbling just below the surface.

"Come with me." Mark muttered darkly, before gripping Roger's arm firmly. With a strength that Roger hadn't known the wiry man possessed, Mark dragged him through the apartment and threw him bodily into the bathroom, shutting the door between them.

"Mark! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Roger launched himself at the closed door, pounding it with his fists, but Mark must have been working out because the door didn't budge. "Mark!"

"You promised, Roger!" Mark's voice was muffled through the cheap wood, but Roger could still hear the emotion it held. "You swore that you were done! You worked so hard! Damn it, Rog…" Mark's voice cracked and Roger almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.

"I told you, Mark! You don't get _done_! Never! That's not how addiction works, remember?!" They were screaming now, yelling past the door, throats growing hoarse and lungs beginning to burn.

"You had beaten it! You did so well! Are you going to throw it all away for a quick thrill? Give up what we fought for? What April died –" That was the final straw. Mark was not allowed to bring up April. Not ever. Temper flaring, Roger reached into his inner strength, slamming into the door and sending Mark flying as it sprung open. He strode across the room, blind to the disappointed faces around him, and grasped Mimi's elbow, pulling her to her feet.

"We're going home." He growled. "Now!" Mimi shrugged and followed as he disappeared out of the door and down the stairs.

Roger crashed through their apartment door and headed straight for the bedroom. Reaching for the old wooden box by the window, he tipped its contents onto the bed. He grabbed as many bags and full needles as he could and returned to Mimi, stooping to retrieve a full bottle of some kind of spirit – he didn't know or care what – on the way. The contents of his arms spilled onto the sofa as he knelt in front of it, and he picked up the bottle to take a long swig. The strong alcohol burned his already-raw throat, but he welcomed the pain.

"That guy is a complete and utter … Argh!" At a total loss for words, Roger resorted to a primal scream. "I can't take it any more, Meems. I just can't." His voice was growing steadily quieter as he downed more of the bottle. The alcohol was acting fast on his empty stomach and he knew he was really quite drunk, but it didn't faze him in the slightest. "Help me forget, Mimi? Please?" He pleaded pathetically, holding out a bag of powder and a needle to his silent girlfriend.

"Are you sure, babe?" She whispered.

"Yes." He assured her. "Very, very sure. Get drunk with me. Get high with me. It's Christmas. And drunk is lonely alone." He was slurring now, his words making little sense, but he could tell from Mimi's raised eyebrows and coy smile that she was quite enjoying this new turn of events. She took the needle from his outstretched hand and prepared his veins to receive it. He watched, his anger ebbing away, as she inserted it into his arm and depressed the plunger. Smiling lazily as the drugs worked their way into his system, he leant towards Mimi, kissing the lips that were already expectantly turned to meet his own.

"Now, let's forget together." He muttered into her cheek.

The rest of the night dissolved into a blur of booze, heroin and Mimi. The sun was rising beyond the apartment walls as they finally stumbled to bed. Roger was fading, dimly aware that he might have overdone it this time, after being clean for so long, but this thought didn't make him regret any of his actions that night. All concept of rational thought evaporated as he lost the battle with consciousness and, in his mind at least, night fell once again.

**There you go. Chapter 4. I know I sound pathetic when I repeat myself, but I hope you liked it. Don't forget to review, you lovely, lovely reviewing people that I know you all are!**


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